


D is for Distraction

by abkvs



Category: Long Exposure (Webcomic)
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Dick Pics, Extreme Thirst, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 08:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abkvs/pseuds/abkvs
Summary: Jonas can't concentrate, and it's all Mitch's fault.





	D is for Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops this is super self indulgent, oh well!! Enjoy some shameless smut. Shout out to Bean for being my beta this time around!

Jonas can't focus. He's trying, but he can't. His foot twitches under his desk in half-time with his heartbeat as he listens to his teacher saying something about math he can't quite make out. He's pretty sure there's an x involved, but his notes cut off half an hour ago and he has no idea what's going on anymore. When the teacher isn't talking, he can hear the buzzing of the overhead lights. When the teacher is talking, Jonas can't remember how the English language works. Everything is noise. Useless noise. Too much noise.

His mind wanders aimlessly from the lesson, out of the classroom door, and six rooms down, to an English class he took last year. He finds Mitch there, asleep in the back of the room. Or maybe he's not asleep, maybe he's flicking the lights on and off with his mind and laughing about it under his breath. Maybe he's actually paying attention? No. No way, that's far too unrealistic.

He wishes he could drop down a level so they could take the class together. He barely gets to spend any time with Mitch anymore; he's still grounded. He's grounded and it's really hard to get any privacy in a school where your boyfriend is beyond notorious. It's probably kind of what dating a celebrity is like, he thinks. Somehow everyone knows where you've been and everyone has a rumor about you. It's obnoxious, but not obnoxious enough to break up over. It'll go away after high school, Jonas is pretty sure. He… hopes so, anyways.

His status as a goody two-shoes nerd has been slipping away over the past few months. Where once he was a token nerd and Mitch a token bully, things have changed. For Jonas, anyway. Not much changed for Mitch; no one would dare call him a fag to his face. No one dares say that to Jonas anymore, either. One of Neil's lackeys did, one day in the hallway after gym class, not long after the rumor of his relationship with Mitch began to spread. Shortly thereafter, said lackey accidentally walked right into the bony fist of Jonas's new boyfriend. Jonas, when asked, will deny any and all rumors that he laughed. He may have giggled, but that's also just a rumor, he swears.

A soft double-buzz hums in his pocket, jolting him from his wandering daydreams. Jonas finds himself staring at a blackboard covered in algorithms that make about as much sense as hieroglyphics. He squints and frowns and his pocket buzzes again, reminding him why he came back down to earth to begin with.

It's Mitch. Of course it's Mitch. He's the only person he knows who texts him during class. Jonas hesitates to look. Not because he's too much of a rule follower for that, no—it's because of what he knows is waiting for him in the message window.

He bites his lip and unlocks his phone inside of his desk. And there it is. Two new messages and, above them, the one from this morning that's kept him messed up all day.

“whts th mater spots,” the first text teases. The second is just a winking emoji.

That absolute _jerkhole._

The text above it is a photo. Mitch's dick, received 6:47 am, hard and alluring and ever-present in his thoughts. It's blushed a deep purple-pink, with one vein crawling up the left side, and a single freckle near the tip. Mitch's thumb is pushing against the base in a way that coveys the weight and mass off the thing shockingly well. (Is it weird to compliment someone's photography over a dick pic?) The worst part, by far, is the shimmering bead perched at the tip—the bead that Jonas knows, from experience he will aggressively deny he has, is infuriatingly sweet to the taste.

_Ugh._

Mitch knows exactly what he thinks. Jonas couldn't look him in the eye this morning. He tried, once, and managed to fire off a few bubbles of pink light before babbling about how he was late to tie his shoes as he ran away as fast as he possibly could. He could practically feel Mitch's smirk burning into his back. These new messages are just an excuse to undo him all over again. It's sinister and mean and it's doing things to Jonas's heart rate.

He doesn't text back.

Later, lunch is hot dogs and Jonas thinks God is cruel.

He comes away from the lunch line with a fruit cup and nothing else, and even that's hard to eat. Lord knows he tries, but Mitch is so… Mitch. He catches his eye across the room and a second later Jonas's phone buzz-buzzes with a new text.

“wna see that tongue ovr here tho”

Jonas's glare is sharper than Mitch's switchblade, but all it gets him is a loud laugh, braying across the cafeteria and turning a few heads along the way.

_This is ridiculous._

Before anyone at his table can start asking questions, Jonas is up again, bag over his shoulder and his partially eaten fruit dumped in the trash. He storms out of the cafeteria and if anyone asks, he left something in his locker. He's not taking this garbage. Not today.

As he's making his way down the empty hall, he hears the slapping of beat-up sneakers on tile catching up to him. He turns just in time to meet Mitch face to …well, chest, technically, but their height difference doesn't make Jonas look any less grumpy, even though he still can't look Mitch in the eyes.

“You are the biggest jerk,” Jonas mumbles as lanky arms tangle around his shoulders. Jonas squirms his way out of Mitch's embrace and whines when he laughs. Jonas's cheeks are a vibrant pink, and it's taking every last scrap of willpower he's got to keep himself from glowing again. His face is so hot that all of his snarky replies sizzle before they can get to his tongue. Mitch has ruined him.

“What's the matter?” Mitch asks as he leers over Jonas's shoulders. He's got that shit-eating grin on, the one that Jonas can't help but melt for, so Jonas shoves weakly at his chest. It's not resistance—it's communication. Mitch knows what it means quite well by now.

Jonas's eyes stay glued to the floor all the way to their destination.

There's always a place in every school that no one really goes, not for any particular reason, but just because no one ever really needs to. At Sellwood High School, this is the handicap ramp connecting the first and second floors. It's grossly out of the way for virtually everyone and everything, tucked away by the JROTC and woodshop classes that few ever take. The bathroom next to it reeks of pot 24/7. The ramp itself, well. Once upon a time the school installed cameras when they caught wind of the illicit activity that was known to go down on the ramp. Those were destroyed last year. No one has yet bothered fixing them.

Jonas pulls Mitch to the open storage area under the ramp. He's still bright red and he still can't quite meet Mitch's eyes. The closer they got, the quieter he became; with every step, the moment became all the more real. Jonas is all at once scared, embarrassed, and too horny to function. He shoves his face against Mitch's shirt and lets out another little whine. The inhale afterwards gets him a lungfull of Mitch's scent: sweat, dirt, smoke, and a hint of Axe that only began showing up a month after they started dating.

“You feelin' lonely, babe?” Mitch cooes as long fingers find their way into Jonas's hair. His gentle touch calms Jonas's shattered nerves, just a bit. His heart rate isn't a screaming mess anymore, at least. But he's still nervous.

But he still really, really needs—

“Y-yeah,” Jonas says softly. He finally lifts his eyes to Mitch and sucks in a nervous, shuddering breath. They're going to do this.

Mitch overturns a mop bucket and sits on it and a moment later Jonas is on his knees.

For another moment, Jonas forgets how to breathe. He presses his face against the crotch of Mitch's torn up jeans— _there it is, oh god_ —and whimpers as he feels— _even through sweaty denim he smells so good_ —his own pants start to get tighter. Mitch's hand is back in his hair again. Jonas fidgets; his stomach is in knots.

His soft lips, trembling like the rest of him, mouth at the denim in front of him. It's robotic at first—scared, afraid. But, as Mitch continues to pet him, it gets easier. His breathing slows. The tremors get softer and softer until…

Jonas moves his hands up to cup along the length hidden from him. He knows Mitch wants to tease him, but he also knows Mitch's will is weak. Jonas knows if he whines enough, Mitch will crumble and give him what he wants, so he whimpers again, even more pitchy and pathetic than before as he looks up into Mitch's eyes. His lips part ever so slightly as their hooded gazes meet. He whines one more time.

And that's all it takes.

A moment later, Mitch's rock hard cock is laying against Jonas's burning red cheek. If Jonas could open his eyes, he'd find one's vision is blocked, but he doesn’t. He can't. He moans softly at the feeling of warmth against his skin and the thick scent of sweat and musk burrowing into his nostrils. Suddenly, Jonas isn't at school anymore. The risk of being caught vanishes from his mind. His hormones take over. The only thing on his mind is Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. God, he adores him. He needs him; he's weak for him. Jonas is glowing pink when he plants a sweet kiss on Mitch's one and only freckle.

Ribbons of soft light flutter around them both, floating on an unseen breeze. It's a gentle sight, calming even, but neither of the pair is paying any attention to that. Mitch is too focused on Jonas. Jonas is too focused on licking his way from Mitch's balls to the tip of his dick. He savors every possible part of the experience, from the smell to the taste to the subtle shifts in the noises Mitch makes when he hits certain spots. There's nothing about this that isn't amazing. He even loves the slimy feeling when he lets Mitch's cock rest against his cheek as he kisses his crotch. His lips bury into deep brown pubes to connect with burning skin, and to make it all that much worse, Jonas casts an affectionate smile up at Mitch. With his own saliva for lube, Jonas gives a dozen or so strokes to Mitch's cock, his grip twisting like a barber pole. Hooded eyes and hiked up cheeks have Mitch biting his lip, but it's the addition of Jonas's hand that drags out a deep, throaty “Fuck, Spots.”

Fuck is exactly what he wants Mitch to do to him, but they can't. Not here, in school, with no condoms and no lube and three more classes that Jonas, despite himself, really doesn't want to be limping to. He's not that far gone yet. Still, there are other ways to savor the feeling of Mitch's hips relentlessly slamming into his body.

Mitch stops breathing when Jonas's lips crest over the tip of his cock.

Jonas's tongue presses against his slit and moans weakly at the taste of pre-cum that greets him. It's a little salty but mostly sweet—so, so sweet. He wants more, but he knows that he won't be able to taste it with the back of his throat; right now, there's a feeling he craves much more than that taste.

Jonas steadies himself with one hand against Mitch's groin, where his thumb lightly caresses Mitch's balls. He lets gravity pull him down, slow and gentle and free from the scrape of teeth, until Mitch's cockhead bumps against his throat. Jonas's breathing stutters. He moans again; it's muffled. His eyes are closed and he has no idea when he closed them. He swallows. He's going to do this.

Slowly, carefully, Jonas pushes down harder. He swallows again as his throat begins to open up for Mitch's cock. He can hear Mitch cursing over him, but for the second time that day, Jonas doesn't understand language. He's lightheaded and it hurts a bit but god, it's hot. It's hot and Mitch is pushing back against him and Jonas feels so _used_ and he's drooling around his boyfriend's dick like the biggest slut on earth and—

His throat clenches and his gag reflex chastises him, forcing him to pull Mitch's perfect dick out of his mouth, just for a moment. He's trembling again. Jonas's hand sneaks down to his own neglected cock. It hurts a bit, he realizes. It's pushing so desperately at his zipper and he's been ignoring it this whole time. How rude.

Jonas likes the way Mitch perks up at the sound of his zipper coming down. He likes a lot of things about Mitch. There's a sense of dirty pride in knowing that he's the only one who gets to see Mitch like this—who can make Mitch act like this. Mitch is flushed as red as Jonas, and as they take a long moment to gaze at each other, Jonas swears his lights grow brighter. Mitch Mueller, the most infamous and feared name in his high school, is here, hiding away with him, leaning down towards him, pulling him up into a kiss that's simultaneously sweet and dirty. It makes him feel special. This softness, this is all for him. Their lips clash, soft and wet and hungry. They trade moans and tongues and grope desperately at each other and before Jonas knows it, Mitch has him pinned to the wall.

“Love you, Joey.”

“Mm—Mit—”

“Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Pl-please, Mitch.” Jonas knows better, but his brain doesn't care about logic anymore. He wants Mitch's cock to destroy him. He wants to be completely wrapped up in him, wants to run away with him, wants to… to…

Jonas slips, falling back to his knees, his open mouth pressed desperately against Mitch's balls. God, he loves every part of this man. He loves the way it feels when Mitch rubs his cock on his cheek. He loves the way it feels when Mitch's cockhead forces his lips back open, the way it feels when Mitch slides his cock over his tongue to bump his throat again... Jonas looks up, reflex tears beading in the corners of his eyes, and revels in the hungry look on Mitch's face. He nods as best he can. He wants this.

Mitch's hand curls into Jonas's even curlier hair and holds his head still as he begins to fuck into Jonas's mouth. Jonas's eyes roll back and he moans helplessly as Mitch rams against the back of his throat again and again and again. It's sloppy; he's drooling around Mitch's cock and he can't help it. Mitch moves Jonas's head, forcing it down onto his dick and it feels incredible.

Jonas grips Mitch's hips and the motion makes Mitch's ripped jeans fall down to his knees. His nails bury into Mitch's pale skin; it'll leave a mark, but it's not the first time. Jonas tends to claw a bit when he's getting fucked, and getting facefucked is no exception.

His eyes flutter closed and he basks in the sensory overload. Taste, smell, sensation, it's all there. Sweet precum, salty sweat, musk, saliva, pain and pleasure—it all mixes together in his jumbled brain and lays calm under their mixed groans and grunts.

When Mitch relaxes his pace, Jonas picks up where he left off. His wet lips twist and slide eagerly around Mitch's cock, and where his lips aren't, his hand is, squeezing and stroking in time.

It doesn't take much more after that to have Mitch twitching and jerking forward, his cum spilling across Jonas's tongue. And Jonas, the loving boyfriend he is, swallows without hesitation. It's a little bitter, but the act itself is hot as hell and his dick's still rock hard and aching for release, so what really is coherent thought, anyways?

Jonas looks up at Mitch and moans softly without really thinking about it. His breathing is hard and heavy and his face is a mess and Mitch, that nasty bastard, is whispering sweet everythings to him, calling him babe and baby as he kneels down to kiss him—and his breath is gone again. That's all it takes. He leans into Mitch's lanky frame as he kisses and sucks the little bead of cum on his lip away. His hand is there, all fingers and angles, gently jerking Jonas's cock while Jonas lies dazed against his chest.

“C'mere, baby,” Mitch says, his normally raspy voice low and soft like a perfectly weighted blanket wrapped around them both. “I got ya.”

He's pushing Jonas back, down, and Jonas doesn't have an ounce of fight in his body. The tile beneath them both is cold and dirty and yet in a moment, Jonas is lying back on it, his pants off and his legs spread—and there's Mitch, right between them. Mitch kisses Jonas's cock just like Jonas kissed his, but his tongue is destined for other places. He kisses him again and again, moving smoothly down deeper between his thighs until—

“Oh, God, Mitch—”

Jonas's chest hitches up as Mitch's tongue finds its home against his ass. He's tight and needy and sensitive in the worst possible way and Mitch's tongue drives through all of that to mercilessly eat him out. The reflex tears that stain Jonas's cheeks soon find themselves washed away by new tears: tears of pleasure, of joy, of complete mind-numbing overstimulation.

Mitch's tongue is a gift from God. It has Jonas's back arching almost without end with the way it pokes and prods and pries at that one little sensitive ring. He even manages to get it in, just a tiny bit, but it's enough to sate Jonas's overwhelming need to be opened up. Jonas's thighs spread wider and his hips push against Mitch's face, rolling and squirming even as Mitch's hands try to hold him down.

In the last moment of clarity before orgasm overtakes him, Jonas remembers to bunch up his shirt. His cum splatters across his stomach, just barely missing fabric and dodging a future of awkwardly-covered stains. Everything goes white as he rides through almost painful waves, and when he can think and see clearly again, Mitch is there, lying on the floor with him and holding him to his chest.

Lunch will be over soon, Jonas knows, but he wants just a few minutes more. Just a moment longer to lay here like this, bundled up and safe in Mitch's arms as Mitch combs his fingers through his hair. He looks up, exhausted, into Mitch's eyes and finds love staring back at him. Mitch's smile is so soft.

“I love you,” one of the pair whispers.

“I love you too,” the other whispers back.

Lips meet again, just one more time, to kiss soft and gentle, with touches like flower petals on water.

“Maybe I'll sneak into your room tonight ‘n fuck ya,” Mitch purrs, completely shattering the moment.

Jonas can't help but laugh, though. He nods, a little giddy and a lot red.  “Maybe you will.”

**Author's Note:**

> more like dickstraction amirite


End file.
